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Authors: Robin Jones Gunn

Sisterchicks in Sombreros

BOOK: Sisterchicks in Sombreros
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From one sisterchick to another …

“I just finished
Sisterchicks Do the Hula!
and had to tell you how wonderful it was! I really can’t put into words how this book touched me, deep down in my soul. Like I was thirsty for something and your book was a cool drink of water. As I was reading the last page, I had tears in my eyes, not wanting the story to end and thankful that I could come along on the journey also. Thank you so much!”


“I am from the UK. Last weekend I bought
Sisterchicks on the Loose!
I can honestly say I never in my life read a book so fast! I laughed out loud, even cried in places, and struggled to put it down. It made me realise I, too, have a Sisterchick who should be treasured.”


“A friend gave
Sisterchicks Do the Hula!
to me for my birthday. I couldn’t put it down. I’m thirty-five and feeling way too old for my age. Thank you for the breath of fresh air. I felt like God had you write it just for me!


“I just finished
Sisterchicks on the Loose!
and loved it. In fact, I devoured it. I hated to see it end. It had to be one of the best books on friendship that I have read. Love your sense of humor; I laughed out loud many times reading it. You have such a heart for Jesus and a wonderful spirit.”


“The ladies’ book club at our church is discussing
Sisterchicks on the Loose!
next month. I am very excited because I loved the book. I have also read
Sisterchicks Do the Hula!
—it is great. Keep writing! And faster, if you can!”


“Thank you for the return trip to Oahu this morning!
[Sisterchicks Do the Hula!]
It is snowing and sleeting outside, but I was enjoying the beautiful blues that only Hawai’i has. Thank you for giving me a ‘garland of hosannas’ and for reminding me to do the hula with God’s rhythm of grace.”


“I just finished
Sisterchicks Do the Hula!
and I loved it! Actually, I found myself sneaking into the bathroom away from my loving husband and ever-present children to read more. You have written marvelous fiction that leaves me feeling closer to God.”


“Look out, Finland! Look out, England! Look out, good ol’ U.S. of A.! It’s
Sisterchicks on the Loose!
.… Gunn’s bouncy, conversational style and steady servings of insight feed the soul and warm the heart. Over forty? The best is yet to come!”


This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

published by Multnomah Publishers, Inc.

© 2004 by Robin’s Ink, LLC

is a trademark of Multnomah Publishers, Inc.

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from:
The Message
by Eugene H. Peterson © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002
Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group

Other Scripture quotations are from:
Holy Bible
, New Living Translation (
© 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
All rights reserved.
The Holy Bible
, New King James Version (
) © 1984 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

is a trademark of Multnomah Publishers, Inc. and is registered in the U.S.
Patent and Trademark Office. The colophon is a trademark of Multnomah Publishers, Inc.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission.

For information:

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Gunn, Robin Jones, 1955-
 Sisterchicks in sombreros : a Sisterchicks novel / Robin Jones Gunn.
         p. cm.
 eISBN: 978-0-307-56376-7
 1. Inheritance and succession—Fiction. 2. Canadians—Mexico—Fiction. 3. Women travelers—Fiction. 4. Sisters—Fiction. 5. Mexico—Fiction. I. Title.
 PS3557.U4866S564 2004




Sisterchicks on the Loose!
Sisterchicks Do the Hula!
Sisterchicks in Sombreros!
Sisterchicks Down Under!
(April 2005)


Tea at Glenbrooke
Mothering by Heart
Gentle Passages

To Julie, my “almost twin” sister, who planned my surprise birthday party when I turned sixteen and never pinched me on the underside of my arm.
Well, maybe once.
I’m so glad we figured out how to be friends early on. I don’t know who I’d be without you.

To Janet, who cruised with me to Mexico, dined on dancing ladies over tea in Ensenada, and endured my moaning after the spa treatment that made her skin well and gave my skin welts.
I’d share sombreros with you any day, dear


“God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams!
He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.”


ost of my life
I secretly admired my sister, Joanne. But until high school, I didn’t I like her. And it wasn’t until we were in our forties that I treasured her.

We’re only sixteen months apart in age. Joanne is the older one. Blond and sweet, with a great laugh. I was known as the bossy baby sister, always ready to make a fuss so I would be noticed.

Our mom used to dress us in matching outfits and tell people, “They’re almost twins, you know.” Joanne and I hated that. How can you be “almost twins”? Aren’t twins supposed to have a lot of similarities? Joanne and I have only two—the same creamy, fair skin and the same funny nose.

By the time I was eight, I had grown a full inch taller than Joanne. That was the year we moved from Saskatoon to British Columbia, and everyone who met us assumed I was the older
of the two Clayton girls. I know Joanne shrunk a little every time someone called her Melanie, while I reveled in finally receiving top billing.

When Joanne got her driver’s license, our quirky power balance was upset again because I was suddenly at her mercy if I wanted to go anywhere. We argued all the time.

That is, until my sixteenth birthday.

I asked Joanne to drive me across town to a friend’s house, but a sassy look crossed Joanne’s face, and she said, “I don’t know, Melanie. What’s it worth to you?”

I snapped back with, “I don’t know, Joanne. What’s it worth to you not to show up at school Monday with two black eyes?”

Instead of being intimidated, my sister laughed at me. She drove the whole way with a snicker just begging to burst out from her lips. I was so steamed that, when we pulled up in front of my friend’s house, I turned to Joanne and said, “When I get my license, I’ll never drive you anywhere, even if you have two broken legs and plead with me to take you to the hospital.”

Joanne only laughed more.

I slammed the car door and marched up to the house, vowing never to speak to my sister again. Just then the front door swung open, and all my closest friends yelled, “Surprise!” Joanne was standing behind me, grinning like a goose. The surprise birthday party had been her idea down to the last detail.

Stunned, I turned to her, and with an apology that encompassed
my entire malicious career as a sister, I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Joanne teared up and said in a sincere but playful voice, “Me, too, Melly Jelly Belly.”

I hugged her in front of my waiting friends. “Thanks, Joanna Banana.”

And that was it; we became friends.

We always had shared a bedroom, but after that we shared our clothes and makeup as well as our secret crushes and dreams for the future. Joanne wanted to be a nurse. I wanted to be something more glamorous like an interior decorator or a pastry chef and took a variety of classes at the community college, changing my major each semester.

I tried on a variety of careers and was as surprised as anyone when the one that stuck was running the front desk at a dental office, which is what I do even now. That’s where I met my husband, Ethan. He came in for a root canal and left with my phone number. That was almost seventeen years ago.

In that same time span my saintly sister graduated with honors from nursing school in Toronto, dedicated herself to long hours healing the infirm, sent generous gifts to my two daughters on their birthdays, and spent five years in India. She worked at a safe house that rescued juvenile girls off the streets who had been sold into prostitution. Now you can see why I admire her.

After Joanne returned to Toronto, I often wondered if she regretted not marrying Russell what’s-his-name while she had
the chance. It’s the sort of question one sister can ask another, but I’d never come right out and asked her.

We fell into a routine with our relationship after we both passed forty. She would call every few weeks and ask about Ethan and the girls and if I had seen Mom and Dad. I’d answer in short sentences, and then I’d ask about her job and her dog, Russell. Yes, she named her schnauzer Russell. After Russell what’s-his-name, I presumed.

BOOK: Sisterchicks in Sombreros
6.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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